


field trip

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: Claire and Brad make a craft store pilgrimage. Because that’s a fic that needed to be written.





	field trip

**Author's Note:**

> Hat tip to professortennant; this started out as us just chatting back and forth about the concept, and I just couldn’t resist writing it out. You’re the best, prof. When I grow up I wanna be just like you.
> 
> This is, as always, 100% fictional.

Claire is going to murder Brad.

It’s really too bad. She doesn’t look forward to it. Disposing of the body will be difficult, and of course they’ll have to find a new host for _It’s Alive_. There’ll probably be a lot of paperwork. Adam will have some questions.

But she’s fairly sure he’ll understand that there are mitigating circumstances, including (but not limited to) what happens when Brad ends up joining her on a trip to Michael’s and discovers that craft stores are full of things he can pick up and shake and twist and tip and poke and rattle and sniff and oh my GOD SHE IS GOING TO KILL HIM.

“No.”

“But Claire –”

“_No._” She grabs a handful of his t-shirt to hold him in place as he tries to push the cart forward. “We are not going into the glitter aisle. Glitter is a privilege.”

“Claaaaaaaaire –”

“That is _final_.”

Claire fixes him with her sternest look, telling herself that it’s important to maintain eye contact when establishing rules with puppies, and she is _not_ going to give in to those sparkling blue eyes and the sad pout he’s very obviously trying on her.

But miracle of miracles, he just heaves a dramatic sigh and pushes the cart obediently behind her as she turns into a different aisle.

* * *

Claire loves Michael’s.

She has since she was a kid. Craft stores were always her favorite. Tiny little Claire used to walk around wide-eyed, mapping out everything, from what seemed like an endless rainbow of yarn shades and embroidery floss, to the endless possibilities of scrapbooking paper, to all the tidy, clean right angles of framing supplies. It’s the perfect balance: the infinite chaos of possibilities, all neatly arranged on dozens of shelves, everything right where it should be. It’s her personal haven.

Of course, she usually doesn’t have Dug from _Up_ following her around.

But she has a whole list of things to get. Some things for herself for home, some for the office, including some supplies for _It’s Alive_, so Brad’s with her today. He’s ostensibly here to “help.” So far his help has been limited to pushing the cart around, and hampered by his unstoppable zeal for touching literally every single thing he sees until she swears she’s about to –

“Claire?”

She turns to find one of the (several) Michael’s staff she knows by name now. Jess is a college girl with two cats, boundless enthusiasm for baking and crafting, and an encyclopedic knowledge of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. She’d recognized Claire from the BA videos immediately, and she’s always happy to help point her towards whatever oddball supplies Claire’s looking for this time.

“Hey, Jess.” Claire half-turns, making sure she hasn’t lost her companion. “Oh, this is –”

“Brad Leone!” The girl’s eyes go wide. “Oh, wow. Yeah, I love your videos too.”

He grins easily, still hunched over the cart. “Thanks.”

“You’re both my favorites,” Jess assures them. “Seriously. Your doughnut videos are literally the best thing on the internet right now.”

Claire huffs out a short laugh. Sour-_dough_-nuts. She’ll never escape them. “Wonderful.”

“So can I help you find anything?” Jess brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “We do have some new stock in since last week.”

“Do you remember those pastry tips I was looking for last time?” Claire waves a hand, trying to figure out exactly what she’s asking. “We’re looking for something…kind of the same shape, but bigger. And metal. And preferably oven-safe.”

The girl thinks for a minute. “Hmm. I’m not sure, but maybe?” She bites her lip, tilting her head. “Well, let’s check. I’m sure there’s something that’ll work.”

* * *

Jess finds Claire a pretty good substitute for the (not-yet-in-existence) tool she needs before heading off to help other customers, shooting Brad a shy little wave over her shoulder.

Brad grins. “She seems nice.”

Claire glares at him. It’s halfhearted, but right now it’s all she’s got. Brad’s no stranger to the interested looks and flirtatious waves and not-very-subtly slipped phone numbers. He’s cute and he knows it.

To his credit, though, he takes it in stride without letting it go to his head. He usually just seems amused. Although there was one time, at a little gathering during VidCon, a cluster of cute young food vloggers cornered him at a bar wearing matching cropped tank tops that said _Is your dough rising, or are you just happy to see me?_ He’d actually looked thoroughly embarrassed, especially when they started pleading with him for photos.

_That_ was one of the funnier parts of the week.

“Okay.” He claps his hands. “So we got the thing. What next?”

She pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Pipe cleaners.”

“You sure? You don’t wanna stop and make sure it’s triple-alphabetized –”

“That doesn’t even make sense –”

“- and written out on a giant map of the store –”

“- Brad –”

“- so let’s get a compass and some string and maybe some trail mix for the hike –”

“_Brad!”_

He grins at her cheekily, because he likes riling her up, and he’s entirely too good at it.

She flushes hotly. “You’re the worst.”

“Hey, you said I could come along,” he points out with a shrug. “This is bonding. Maybe we can do some trust falls next.”

Yep. She’s going to murder him.

* * *

Things were going better, actually. They really were.

But then Brad had caught sight of the fluffy, colorful waterfall of feather boas, and he’d turned the cart down the aisle before she’d realized it.

Now he’s got five of them wrapped around his neck and he’s strutting down the aisle, mock-posing like a supermodel, pretending to toss his hair as he twirls a sixth boa around him. Claire sighs, catching glimpse of two other store employees across the way, watching and stifling laughter.

“I can never come here again,” she groans.

“Whaddaya mean, Claire?” Brad scoffs. “You’re right. This place is great.” He loops a boa around her neck playfully. “See? Looks good on ya.”

Claire drags it off, hanging it back carefully on the correct hook, wondering if she can just escape without him and pretend she’s never seen him before. Maybe she can convince everyone that he dragged her here against her will. Although – is murder entirely out of the picture now? There are plenty of potential weapons here. Jess would probably help her hide the body.

(But no, she can definitely never come back here again.)

* * *

Because it’s just how Claire’s life goes, there’s only one of the exact size of dough cutter she needs and it’s way up on the top shelf.

She glares at it for a moment, but it doesn’t move, so she finally turns to Brad, mustering up her most pathetic face. “Can you please get that for me?”

“Of course.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t toss in any teasing about how short she is (she’s not _that_ short, he’s just a human tree). He just reaches up high, bracing one hand on the cart as he feels for the thing she’s asking for, trying to pull it off of the crowded top shelf without knocking anything else over.

Claire swallows hard, because she’s certainly not fixated on the muscles in his arms, the strong grip of his hand, the strip of bare skin showing between his t-shirt and jeans, just a hint of the tanned skin of his back –

“This it?”

She blinks, drags her eyes away from where she definitely was _not_ looking at his ass, up to the cutter he’s holding. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He sets it in the cart carefully, but he’s still eyeing her with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Hmm? Nothing, nothing.” He straightens, clears his throat. “What next? I like this place. We should come here every week.”

Claire looks back down at her list, hoping the warmth she can feel spreading across her cheeks isn’t noticeable and it’s not painfully obvious that she was just checking him out.

* * *

As they finish up at the register and head for the exit, Claire admits to herself that it’s probably a good thing she resisted the urge to murder Brad. She’d never be able to carry all this herself.

He hefts his own bags, which hold the vast majority of the stuff they’d bought. “Okay! Off we go!”

* * *

She’s picked up a fair number of supplies for herself, so they stop at her apartment before heading back downtown.

Brad follows her inside. Felix pads up and meows softly – probably surprised to see her home at this time of day – butting his head against her legs.

“Hey, kitty.” Brad coos at the cat, who winds around his legs before returning to the windowsill to curl up and not-really-sleep. “He’s pretty mellow.”

“He is, until you pull out a laser pointer.” Claire sets her bags down on the kitchen counter. “You can set those over on the table. Those go back to the office.”

“Gotcha.” He deposits his bags as directed, shaking out his hands. “Jeez. Gotta double up on my weights. This shit is heavy.”

Now that she’s home, in her own space, and she managed to keep him away from the glitter, Claire thinks she can afford to be gracious. “Thank you for helping carry it. I never would’ve been able to get everything alone.”

“That’s what I do, Claire. I help.” He points at her for emphasis. “Brad the Helper, that’s what they call me.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s ridiculous. She needs to stop smiling.

“You unpacking now?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I’m not really in a hurry. I don’t have to be back at the office for a while.”

“Need a hand?”

Claire surveys the spread of things she has to put away. Nothing for the top shelves, and even if there was, she does have a stepstool. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Mind if I use the little boys’ room?”

She chuckles. “Go ahead. Down the hallway, on the right.”

* * *

Claire finishes putting things away, grabs a glass of water, and settles onto the couch. No reason she can’t relax for a few minutes while she waits.

Brad reappears a moment later, whistling. “Nice bathroom, Claire. Your hand soap smells good.”

“Thanks.”

He flops easily beside her on the couch, which immediately feels smaller and shorter for it. Brad’s entire presence is big; she half-wonders if maybe he’s 6’4” just because his personality wouldn’t fit into a smaller body.

“That was fun,” he says suddenly. “I see why you like that place.”

“Are you kidding me?” Claire scoffs. “That was chaos.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m never letting you come to Michael’s with me again.”

“Oh, come on –”

“They’re probably going to put your photo up by the register to bar your entry.”

He laughs at that, broad and easy, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingertips just barely brushing her shoulder, although it’s certainly just an accident. Claire’s sure of it. “You say that as if you didn’t love having me there.”

“_Brad_ –”

“Face it, Half-Sour. You like having me around.”

Claire tries to glare at him convincingly, but she has the sinking feeling that she’s failing. Because she _does_ like having him around. But she’s certainly not going to admit it. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Maybe. _Maybe_.” He grins smugly, and she holds up a hand. “But only when I need something on the top shelf.”

“Oh, really.” Brad fixes her with a mischievous look, the knowing, boyish look that makes her heart hammer and her cheeks get warm. “So are we just gonna pretend you weren’t checking me out?”

Claire flushes hotly, because she’d really thought he hadn’t noticed, and she knows her reaction right now is way too obvious to mistake for anything but guilt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“_Really_.” He looks way too sure of himself. And the worst part? He’s right. “You sure you weren’t sneakin’ a little look-see when I got that thing you needed?”

Oh, he’s the worst. He’s the _worst_. She hates it when he’s right. And he has the bothersome habit of being right. And with all her education and training and fancy terms, Claire’s got absolutely nothing, because Brad Leone has caught on to the slowly simmering attraction she’s been simultaneously nursing and pretending doesn’t exist.

His eyes flick down to her mouth in a gaze way too easy to be casual, and Claire licks her lips reflexively, flushing as his eyes go dark. “See, when you do that, Claire –”

“What?” She’s just barely leaning towards him, drifting into his space like it’s inevitable.

His voice is rough. “If you’re not careful, I’m gonna have to kiss you.”

Claire sighs, the growl in his words unmistakable, and it doesn’t even feel like she’s doing anything when she leans just a few inches in and her eyes flutter shut as she kisses him.

The first touch of his mouth is electric, and she barely has a moment to register that this is _actually happening_ before he’s kissing her back.

The initial shock vanishes in a split second and then his hands are on her face and she shivers and sinks into his touch, her mouth opening willingly under his as he deepens the kiss.

It’s that same energy, that same chaotic intensity that makes him pick up and touch and poke at everything, except suddenly now it’s all focused on _her_. He tugs at her shirt and slips his hands onto her bare skin and she gasps into his mouth because it’s just so much, so fast, but it’s so good she just doesn’t care.

His hat ends up somewhere on the floor, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because he tugs her onto his lap and groans when she rakes her fingernails over his scalp. “Claire –”

She swallows hard as he catches her earlobe in his teeth. “Yeah?”

“I just – you should know –”

“_What?”_ It comes out breathless. She can’t help it. The rasp of his stubble against her cheek makes her toes curl. Why is he talking? _– now?_

“- I have to get back to the kitchen in, like, half an hour.”

Claire groans, stilling, her hands pressed to his chest. “You tell me that _now?”_

“Well jeez, Claire, I wasn’t exactly planning on this.” He looks sheepish, which is remarkable, considering just how recently his tongue was in her mouth. “It’s not like I penciled ‘make out with Claire’ in my datebook.”

She huffs out something like a laugh, although it feels a little strained. “Right.”

“Hey. _Hey._” He brushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear with surprising gentleness. “I’m not – jumping to anything, here. I’m just –”

“Just what?”

He leans in to steal another kiss, just a quick peck on her lips. “I like you.”

“Uh-huh.” She’s smiling against his mouth. He’s ridiculous. This is insane. “I can tell.”

“So maybe we can make out a little more before we go back to work?”

Claire slides her hands over his shoulders, catching his bottom lip with her teeth, feeling the low rumble in his chest.

“I think we can make that work.”

* * *

Claire’s going to have to murder Brad. Again.

“What?” He shoots her an innocent look. “What? What’s with the face?”

She waits until the elevator doors close and they start moving up towards the test kitchen floor. “I _told_ you not to give me a hickey.”

He blinks, confused (and it’s _not_ adorable, it is not), turning to look at her neck. She sees the realization dawn on his face as he sees it, the faint reddish-purple mark at the base of her throat.

And of _course_ he gets that lopsided, self-satisfied grin. She glares at him. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Well, excuse _me_ for being happy about the fact that a beautiful woman just up and started making out with me,” he shoots back. “Not my fault I’m so irresistible.”

“Oh, come on_ –_”

“Excuse me, Saffitz.” He puts on an airy tone. “My eyes are up _here_.”

He’s infuriating. Utterly infuriating.

She grabs a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to steal one last kiss before the elevator doors open with a ding. He gestures with his free hand. “After you.”

Claire decides that glaring at him isn’t working. Probably because he’s cute and he knows it. “You’re lucky I like you.”

That makes him grin, and he nudges her with his shoulder. “Hell yeah, I am.”

Any indignation she was trying to muster up dissolves, because behind all the bluster and noise and chaos, he’s just about the most genuine person she’s ever met, and Claire knows with utter certainty that he’s just as far in this as she is.

Oh, she’s doomed.

But she’s still short. And he’s a good kisser.

So maybe she’ll hold off on murdering him. For now.


End file.
